Page 9 of Poltergeists & Change of Life

Hattie's response was a wave of energy that sent us all flying like we'd suddenly decided to audition for a very violent production of Peter Pan. My babies erected a protective shield before I crashed into a shelf of ancient texts. It kept the worst of the injury at bay, but my back still protested the rough treatment with a chorus of aches. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I should work on my negotiation skills. Or at the very least, invest in some full-body padding.

"Well, that went about as well as a lead balloon in a thunderstorm," Stella snarled as she pulled herself up from a pile of scattered grimoires. Her usual cheerfulness was frayed around the edges, like a favorite sweater that had seen betterdays. "At least we all got to fly for free. Though I have to say, the landing could use some work."

“Another thing we can add to the list Hades is creating for Lyra’s new home,” I replied. At this rate, her indiscretions would wrap around the Earth a second time.

CHAPTER 4

The door to our Sanctum shuddered with all the subtlety of a caffeinated rhinoceros auditioning for “Stomp” after my seventeen-year-old slammed it. I cast a sidelong glance at Stella. She was poring over Lyra's journal with the frantic energy of a graduate student three energy drinks deep and two hours away from a career-defining deadline. The air in the room had become so tense you could have cut it with a knife. That was assuming, of course, you could find a blade capable of slicing through the potent cocktail of fear, frustration, and Hattie's spectral rage that permeated everything.

Catching my reflection in an ornate Venetian mirror, I noted my complexion had taken on the sickly pallor of a vampire who'd accidentally stumbled into a tanning salon. The dark circles under my eyes suggested I'd recently gone ten rounds with a sleep-deprivation demon and lost spectacularly. All in all, I looked nothing like a powerful witch and more like an extra from "The Walking Dead" who'd gotten lost on the way to makeup and decided to improvise.

I inhaled deeply. The scent of old books and impending doom filled my nostrils. "Focus, Phoebe," I muttered to myselfas I contemplated the Herculean task at hand with all the enthusiasm of a cat facing a bath. "Just to clarify our current predicament," I began, "Hattie is embracing this whole poltergeist gig with the enthusiasm of a method actor preparing for the role of a lifetime. I half expect her to start demanding her spectral trailer and a ghostly latte any minute now."

Stella glanced up from the journal. Her usual bubbly demeanor poked through the storm clouds. "Oh, come on, Phoebe! Look on the bright side. You're getting a free home makeover. Granted, it's more 'disaster zone chic' than 'Better Homes and Gardens’, but beggars can't be choosers, right?"

I emitted a laugh so bitter it could have curdled milk at fifty paces and turned wine into vinegar as a party trick. "Indeed, this falls somewhat short of my ideal afternoon activities. I was rather hoping for a Netflix marathon accompanied by a tub of ice cream large enough to drown Binx in. Starring in 'Poltergeist: The Home Edition' was nowhere on the agenda. But why settle for boring old relaxation when we can play 'Dodge the Flying Debris' instead? It's just like dodgeball but with more mortal peril.” I lifted a finger and smiled at her. “And fewer middle school flashbacks."

The door shuddered again, making me look up the stairs. The wood groaned like an arthritic giant being forced to do yoga. It would have been comical if it weren't for the imminent threat of spectral dismemberment. It dawned on me that Hattie's malevolent energy was surging against it and causing the sound. Her power whipped around with the relentless determination of a telemarketer who's been told 'no' one too many times and has decided that today's the day they're going to make that sale or die trying.

"Well, isn't this just peachy," I drawled. My voice dripped with enough sarcasm to flood the Sahara and give it beachfront property. "Here we are, cowering like mice in a cat factorywhile Little Miss Hattie throws the tantrum of the century. If I'd known the afterlife involved this much property damage, I might've reconsidered some of my life choices. I could have taken up a nice, safe hobby like alligator wrestling or volcano surfing."

“Alligator wrestling sounds fun,” Stella replied as she stood at the center of the room. Her arms were outstretched like she was trying to hug the apocalypse. And her face was screwed up tighter than my ex's wallet on date night. The shimmering dome of energy she’d surrounded us with, pulsed with each impact of debris Hattie’s storm hurled our way.

"Stella, how long can you keep this up?" I asked, eyeing the wavering shield. Getting my wayward thoughts together, I cast a spell and sent it to join with hers.

She gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her brow like she'd just run a marathon in Hell. "As long as I have to," she growled.

Right then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, a chunk of silver hurtled toward us like a deadly frisbee. The shield flickered, and for a hot second, I thought we were about to become the world's most magical pancakes. "Shit," I muttered, moving to Stella's side. "We need to beef up this magical bubble wrap before we pop."

Without waiting for her to argue, I slapped my hands on her shoulders. I channeled my energy directly into her. It was easier than waiting for her magic to twine with mine. The power surge between us was like a live wire. Immediately, I braided our energy together. Stella let out a gasp that was half relief, half 'holy crap that tingles'. The shield brightened and transformed from discount saran wrap to magical bulletproof glass.

"That should do it," I said. Maintaining this barrier was about as easy as bench-pressing a truck.

"Fingers crossed," Stella shot back, but I could hear the grin in her voice.

The spell needed to stabilize before we moved on which was why we stood there as the magic flowed between us like the world's weirdest game of hot potato. If we survived this, I was going to need a drink. Or ten. Preferably something strong enough to make me forget I ever thought 'magical pest control' was a sensible career choice. When one of my babies kicked my bladder, I winced and sent them a silent apology. That drink would have to wait.

Stella smiled at me with a cheerfulness that bordered on the pathological. "I’m glad we're in this together.

“Absolutely. Nothing says 'family bonding' quite like facing certain doom as a unit! We should make t-shirts. 'I Survived the Dieudonne Family Ghost Invasion 2024' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Stella laughed as she went back to reading through the journal. We stood there silently as she read and lifted her gaze every few seconds. I kept pouring power into our shield and prayed Hattie would lose steam soon. Stella's triumphant, "Got it!" cut through the room like a hot knife through spectral butter. It momentarily silenced even the steady stream of acerbic commentary running like a ticker tape through my brain.

With her eyes locked on the journal, she explained what she had found. "This passage here," she continued, tapping the page for emphasis with enough force to make me worry for the structural integrity of the ancient tome, "it's about binding spirits. And let me tell you, this isn't your run-of-the-mill, garden-variety 'ghost in a bottle' parlor trick. This is the kind of dark mojo that would make Aleister Crowley sit up in his grave and take notes. She needs a pocket realm to tie everything through. Not just the amulet."

I moved closer and peered over her shoulder. I read the ancient ritual with all the enthusiasm of someone reading their own autopsy report. The language was archaic, yetfamiliar enough for the underlying meaning to seep into my consciousness like a particularly stubborn oil stain on the fabric of reality. "Binding spirits," I murmured. "Lyra's not just tethering Hattie to the house and putting her on some sort of supernatural house arrest. She's anchoring her to a realm Lyra controls through Hattie’s pain and anger. She’s freaking weaponizing Hattie's emotions like some twisted form of spiritual nuclear fusion. She wants Hattie to reclaim the Pleiades power so she can take it from her. It seems the same rules don’t apply to ghosts."

Stella's scowl deepened, if that was even possible. "Typical Lyra," she growled. Her fingers tightened on the journal's edges with enough force to make the paper whimper. "Always has to go the extra mile in the 'completely unhinged' department. Why settle for a regular ghost when you can have a supernatural WMD? I bet she stays up nights thinking of new ways to be the overachiever of the evil witch community."

I let out a bark of laughter. "Well, ain't that just dandy? Not content with disturbing the dead, Lyra's gone and turned our Hattie into the spiritual equivalent of a nuclear warhead with anger management issues."

Stella nodded sagely, and her brow furrowed in concentration. "Breaking this binding will be no small feat," she mused in a voice that carried the weight of eons. "It looks like it will be akin to attempting to untangle the Gordian knot while blindfolded and wearing oven mitts.”

My intestines tied into a million knots as I added, “Yeah, in a hurricane. On a tightrope. Over a pit of lava."

"Oh, is that all?" she shot back.

I ignored that as my gaze darted to the door when it shuddered under another assault. A crack spread across its surface like a roadmap of our impending doom. "Well then, by all means, let's get cracking on this magical Rubik's cube. I'msure we'll have it solved just in time for Hattie to use our bones as her new wind chimes."

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